Shattered Dynasty by Ava Harrison
21
Payton
We’re backin the car two hours later.
Trent speeds through the city as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
I, however, can’t get over where we were.
I’m still in shock over it.
A part of me didn’t believe he was serious that I would be volunteering, but the shocking part is that he was with me the whole time.
Not necessarily in the same room, but he was helping there, too, not just on his phone. And I don’t believe for a second it’s for the good PR. There were no cameras. No fanfare. Just a man doing a good deed for people he obviously cares about.
Trent Aldridge has a heart.
He is not a cold, callous villain.
It’s just me he hates.
It’s an ugly truth. One made uglier by the beauty I witnessed at Cresthill. When I finished cleaning the bathrooms, I headed back to Margret to see where I needed to go next, and I saw Trent with the same older man playing cards. The one who called me Trent’s girl. Trent threw his head back, laughing with everything in him. Then he dipped to the floor, tying the man’s shoes.
I can’t reconcile the idea of Trent literally on the floor tying someone’s shoes.
No matter how hard I try, it makes no sense. He takes away my place to live.
He takes away my money for food unless I work for him.
He looks at me like he wants to devour me, making it hard for me to even look at him.
But this . . .
Tonight.
The kindness everyone has toward him? It makes no sense.
Unless, and it’s a big unless, he extends the same kindness toward them.
“You were serious about me volunteering,” I whisper.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
We fall back into silence. I still can’t believe it. We zip past cars at breakneck speed. This is the Trent I’m more familiar with. In control. Living fast and hard.
Fast and hard.
God. My cheeks flush. I’m disappointed in myself for touching myself thinking about him. And we’re right back to square one, only I know he has a heart. One that beats for everyone but me.
Why do you care, Payton?
“Volunteering,” I blurt out, forcing the embarrassment out of my head.
“Is that a question or a statement, Payton?”
“I’m just surprised,” I answer honestly.
“Yeah, well, happy to keep you on your toes during our time together.”
I turn my body to face him. “Why do you have to be such a dick?”
“That’s an upgrade from asshole.” The corner of his mouth twists . . . up? Down? I’m not sure. He looks both pleased and annoyed. Quite a feat. “What can I say? I was born that way. I get that trait from dear old Daddy Ronnie.” He keeps his eyes on the road as he answers.
“He wasn’t like that with me,” I mutter under my breath, and I realize as soon as I do, I shouldn’t have.
“No, he sure didn’t try to sell you to pay off a debt.” His shoulders rise and fall fast. He’s forcing back his anger. It’s sad that I consider that a development.
I decide to feed the beast. I can’t help it. “No matter how many times you tell me that, I have a hard time believing it . . .”
“Go speak to my sister,” he deadpans, switching lanes with speed and precision. “She can tell you all about it.”
My heart leaps. I’m not used to driving, let alone at speeds like this. I can’t wait until we get back into a congested part of the city, where there’s traffic to slow him down.
“I’d rather not,” I mutter.
“You’d rather pretend he was a good guy. It wipes the blood from the money. I get it. I don’t respect it, but I get it. Cowardly as hell,” he adds with so much derision, the temperature in the car rises in an instant. “Well, I’m sorry to break it to you, princess, he wasn’t good.”
“It’s not about the money,” I start before giving up. It’s not like he’ll believe me when I say I actually cared for Ronnie, and the desecration of his memory is difficult to stomach. I pivot to his last sentence. It’s the only thing I have undoubted grounds to attack. “If you knew me at all, you would know your nickname isn’t fitting.”
“Twenty-two million dollars says it is.” He scoffs and slams on the brakes.
The car jerks to a stop. That’s when he finally looks at where I’m sitting beside him in the passenger seat. The expression on his face tells me a lot. None of which I want to hear.
I know you think very little of me. You’re not exactly high on my Christmas card list, either.
“Yet, I don’t have that money.” I give him a pointed look, refusing to avert my gaze, even when his attention is almost sickening. My stomach churns faster than a laundromat spin cycle.
Trent returns his eyes to the road. “You might never have it either.”
The anger this man has for me is palpable.
Like a noose tightening around my throat, never failing to remind me it’s there.
I’ve had it. “What is your deal?” I throw my hands in the air. Months of anxiety, anger, grief, and heartbreak burst out of me with my words. “I get it. You hated your father. But what the hell did I ever fucking do to you?”
“Change of plans,” he announces, making a U-turn that has me reaching for the center console.
My fingers brush against his thigh with the movement.
Both of us freeze.
Then Trent grits out, “We’re going back to my house. You can eat there.”
I shrug, returning my hand back to my half of the car, where it belongs. “I didn’t want to eat with you anyway.”
We continue to drive, the air in the car thick with tension.
This man makes no sense.
A conundrum I have no hopes of unraveling.
The perfect treatment he gives to Ivy and his mom makes sense. They’re his family. The one that didn’t abandon him. But the center? It’s obvious everyone at Cresthill loves Trent Aldridge. It’s a difficult pill to swallow, mostly because the label’s warning reads: HE ONLY HATES YOU, PAYTON.
I stare at his profile, not bothering to hide it.
Why are you treating me like I’m the one who hurt your family? Yeah, you’re pissed at your dad, but what the hell? Can’t you just yell at me, get it off your chest, visit one of those expensive Manhattan therapists? Literally anything but this . . .
If my attention bothers him, Trent doesn’t show it.
“You don’t even need the money,” I finally say.
“You’re right, I don’t.”
He changes lanes with ease, then we’re back in his part of the city. The part full of men like him. Rich, savage, and privileged.
Who are you kidding, Payton? Those men are minnows. He’s the shark.
“Twenty-two million is pocket change for you,” I state the obvious. “So, what is this? A big middle finger to Daddy? Grow up, Trent.”
“The money is blood money, princess.”
“Well, maybe it doesn’t have to be . . .”
“What is that supposed to mean? There is no changing what it is. If you have a time machine that can take you back to the moment that bastard made the money, do share. Maybe while you’re at it, I can end him before he chooses to sell Ivy.”
I swallow. A lump in my throat formed with his rage. By my own, too. The part of me that believes Trent is angry. Stewing at Ronnie.
Some lines should never be crossed, and hurting your family is one of them. It makes Ronnie just like Erin.
Actually, it makes him worse.
At least Erin never sold me. I mean, I don’t doubt that she’s tried, but she’s not the type to succeed at things.
So, there’s that.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What are you going to do, donate it all?” He snorts. “Doubtful. I have seen your bank records. Or lack thereof. You don’t have two pieces of shit to rub together.”
“What the hell! What do you mean you’ve seen my bank records? That’s a huge invasion of privacy!”
I have a whopping twenty-five dollars in the bank. I set it up when I turned eighteen, never used it, and let it sit with the minimum deposit. I kept it open to remind me of the choices I’ve made. Instead of eating that day, I opened a savings account.
I chose to hope for a future.
“Cry me a river.”
“You can’t just go about meddling in people’s lives.”
“Yet . . .” He trails off with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Even though half his face is out of view, the side I do see is obnoxious enough that I want to remove my shoe and throw it at his face.
Seeing as he’s driving, and I don’t have a death wish, I’ll refrain.
Barely.
“I’m not your dad.” I glare out the front windshield, hating the city for the first time. Every inch of it reminds me of Trent. “Making my life hell won’t fix what he did to you. And despite what you think, I never knew about your family. I was kept in the dark. So hurting me doesn’t change anything.”
“But it will make me feel better.”
“It will be a short-lived pleasure.”
“What do you know about that?”
“I know a lot more than you’d expect.” The double entendre isn’t lost on me. I flush, reminded of the shower. Gosh, I really screwed myself with that one.
Figuratively and literally.
“You think you’ve had it rough,” I pivot. “Try living in a ca—” I stop myself before I finish.
The vehicle rolls to a stop, and Trent looks at me.
“You lived in a car?”
“Not everyone grew up in a gilded castle.”
“So, basically, that means your sister really is a whore.”
Of course, that’s what he got from that.
“She did what she had to do to survive and keep us both alive.” I don’t like the defensive edge to my voice. It makes me feel like my life is a game. One in which I’m always on defense.
I don’t know why I bother to even tell him this. He knows nothing of the suffering that comes from poverty. His privilege is so thick, not even an obsidian knife could cut through it, and that shit is volcanic glass.
“And you . . .” He looks me up and down. I think it’s disdain, but I don’t trust myself to get an accurate read on him right now. Not when I’m so on edge. “Did you do who she had to do, too . . . ?”
“Oh, fuck you,” I spit out.
“Princess has claws.” Mockery invades his stare.
“Only for assholes.” My words escape through clenched teeth, but it only seems to entertain him some more.
He basks in my misery.
“You never answered the question.” His tone is light, but I know this is the big unknown plaguing him. “Did you spread your pretty little thighs for Daddy?”
“That’s disgusting.”
He makes a noise at the back of his throat. One I can’t read. I’m unsure whether he believes me, but if I had to guess, I’d say no with a capital N.
The light turns green. Trent starts to drive again.
This time, as the car moves, neither of us speaks, and this time, I’m completely okay with it.
I’m not going to say anything to break the silence.
I have no desire to hear what this man has to say.
He’s vile . . .
But . . .
I shake my head.
No, don’t read into it.
Don’t read into the depth I see in his eyes when they aren’t filled with hate toward me. When he makes other people smile, and it brings one to his face in return.
The thing is, no matter how hard I try not to, deep down, I can hear the hurt that lives inside his voice, and I wonder more about how it got there.
I need to find my sister.
There is so much more to Ronald than I know, and I’m starting to wonder if she knew the real him or not.
And I’m afraid of the answer.